Gaga's 'ARTPOP' is an eccentric, self-important mess

When it comes to fame, the journey is usually more thrilling than actually achieving it. Case in point: Lady Gaga.

When she popped onto the music scene, Gaga (born Stefani Joanne Angelina Germanotta) was uncompromising, refreshing and unpredictable. More importantly, she bombarded us with a series of great pop songs with incessant dance grooves and hard-to-get-out-of-one's-head choruses.

Now, the 27-year-old pop phenomenon's outrageousness seems to be overshadowing her music. Except for a few power ballads, nothing on her latest "ARTPOP" instantly grabs you like "Bad Romance," "Pokerface," "Paparazzi" or "Telephone" did. And the self-importance of making an indelible artistic statement, rather than a killer pop album, doesn't help matters much.

"ARTPOP" is an eccentric mess, the kind of mess you would expect from an audacious artist whose mind is racing all the time and has no off-switch. Most likely an album that will translate better live than through your stereo speakers, "ARTPOP" gets high marks for its sheer audacity but low marks for its consistent inanity.

Looking for a deep artistic statement? Alas, there aren't any. Looking for juvenile jokes about urine and Uranus? You're in luck. More Dr. Pepper than Sgt. Pepper, Gaga's ill attempt to achieve "a reverse Warholian expedition" that would "bring art culture into pop" is laughable at best.

Gaga, who sports more personalities than Sybil having a bad hair day, is completely over the top on the hyperactive opener, "Aura." Starting with a gratuitous act of violence straight out of the Eminem playbook, Gaga — who sounds like she's channeling her inner-Eartha Kitt — sassily snarls, "I killed my former/And left her in the trunk on Highway 10/Put the knife under the hood/If you find it, send it straight to Hollywood." Not only is this a classic case of killing your idols, Gaga is symbolically killing her last persona to make room for the next one, which sounds a lot like her last one (and the one before that.) Not that there is anything wrong with that. Moving from one empty gesture to the next, Gaga seductively purrs, "Do you wanna see me naked lover?/Do you wanna peek underneath the cover?/Do you wanna see the girl who lives behind the aura?" Who in their right mind would say no? But, it turns out whether it's disposing a body or dropping her guard, it's all just another calculated act.

On "Venus," Gaga is a highly sexualized hybrid of Botticelli's "The Birth of Venus" and Roger Vadim's campy "Barbarella" come to life, complete with a seashell bikini, biodegradable underwear and insatiable appetite for amour. Not only does she have a first-name relationship with the planets, Gaga is so in tune with the universe that she can bark, "Uranus/Don't you know my (expletive) is famous," without worrying about the groan-inducing consequences. Gaga, doing her typical B-movie trapped in a B-cup schtick, cheekily meshes sci-fi imagery, rudimentary astronomy, Greek mythology and Penthouse Forum letters for her offbeat narrative. And, like "Aura," "Venus" is equipped with an arsenal of whip-cracking beats that will beat you into submission before you have a chance to beat your head against a wall from the banality of it all.

Gaga wants to be your "G.U.Y." (which is a dumb acronym for "girl under you") on the Madonna-inspired, gender-bender, bump-and-grind "G.U.Y." In the guise an of unabashed vixen (so what's new), Gaga, adopting a mocking Material Girl affection, amusingly coos, "Touch me, touch me, don't be sweet/Love me, love me, please retweet." On "Sexxx Dreams," an inebriated Gaga fantasizes about having sex with a girlfriend (while the girlfriend's boyfriend is out of town). Despite the song's naughty narrative sounding like a cheap "Erotica" knockoff, Gaga cannily sounds like a young Deborah Harry getting her kinks out.

When it comes to printing lies about her or making love to her, Gaga insists, "You can't have my heart/And you won't use my mind/But do what you want with my body" on the steamy dance track "Do What U Want." While Gaga is unapologetic and in-your-face, R&B Casanova R. Kelly soulfully serenades her (while stroking his own ego) in the silly come-on lines, "I could be the drink in your cup/I could be the green in your blunt/Your pusher man." In a prime example of how polar opposites attract (especially when they seem clueless about each other), Gaga's sassy disco diva antics mesh incredibly well with Kelly's smooth croon. Go figure.

Smack dab in the middle of "ARTPOP" is the title track, in which Gaga makes the bold declaration that "My ARTPOP could mean anything." Gee, that's really putting your neck out. She forgot to mention that it could also be a colossal waste of time. On this anemic musical manifesto, Gaga beckons all the lost little monsters of the world to just do their own thing and let the music be their guide. Besides the fact that Madonna did the same many years before (and better), "ARTPOP" comes off as another empty, self-serving gesture.

Soon to be playing at a fashion runway near you, "Donatella" sounds more like an all-out vivisection of Donatella Versace's character than a victory dance. Sporting more backhands than a Kung Fu film festival, Gaga mockingly skewers the famed fashion designer, in the biting lines, "I am so fab/Check it out/ I'm blond/I'm skinny. I'm rich/And I'm a little bit of a (expletive)." Gee, I can only imagine what Gaga would say if the two weren't friends.

Gaga is at her tender, tortured and tempestuous best on the heart-wrenching piano ballad and soon-to-be stellar showstopper "Dope." Here, Gaga is riveting (and the closest she comes on the album to being real) in the role of a bruised and battered party girl who comes to the harsh realization that relentless drug use is destroying the only relationship in life that truly matters. In stark, goose-pimply splendor, Gaga gushes, "My heart would break without you/Might not awake without you/Been hurtin' low for livin' high for so long/I'm sorry and I love you." Showing the genuine heartache and hurt she can convey; only a dope would not give Gaga a second chance.

On the winning, wanderlust opus "Gypsy," Gaga envisions herself as a capricious free spirit who doesn't needs a steady guy to make her feel complete. On this powerful testament of independence and the vagabond lifestyle, Gaga confesses, "I don't want be alone forever, but I can be tonight/I don't want to be alone forever, but I love gypsy life." Shifting from intimate piano balladry to high-energy disco anthem, the listener is swept up by Gaga's unquenchable lust for life, as well as her refreshing candor.

Gaga lives for the love and admiration of her fans on the album's first single and final curtain call, "Applause." On this hammy, quasi-social commentary about celebrity and dependency, Gaga is an energy-sucking vampire that needs to be constantly worshipped and adored. But, despite all its sputtering synths, ricocheting beats and over the top bravado, Gaga gives us little reason to cheer her on, let alone care. If she keeps this up, Gaga might find herself playing to the sounds of chirping crickets.